The Keeper To Her Heart
by Quafflepunchers
Summary: Katie Bell doesn't really know what she wants, except for playing pro-Quidditch. But then Oliver Wood shows up and does three unthinkable things: Tells her not to play, kisses her, and makes her sort-of, possibly, maybe love him. A little. KatieOliver.
1. Exchanging UNpleasantries

**The Keeper To Her Heart  
**a KB/OW story  
by Quafflepunchers

xx

Chapter One: Exchanging UNpleasantries

Katie Bell was staring in a very bored manner out of the window in Saint Mungo's.

The _artificial_ window, mind you.

Everything in Saint Mungo's was artificial. The food. The smiles of the Healers. Even the _sunlight_ streaming through the windows was fake.

All Katie really wanted was to get back to Hogwarts and play some Quidditch.

The scouts for the Holyhead Harpies had come to Gryffindor's last game– the one _before_ the maniacal necklace had attempted to kill her– and told her they were interested.

The Holyhead Harpies. Interested in _her_.

But, Katie couldn't exactly be chosen to be on the team, even if it _was_ just the Reserve Team, if she wasn't even playing.

So that led to a very bored, very stressed Katie, counting down the days until she finally got out.

Only nine more days to go.

The Holyhead Harpies scout had sent her an owl a few days ago, saying she'd come and visit while Katie was in St. Mungo's, to "discuss her future."

Only she hadn't come, and Katie was exceptionally stressed out. Really, where were these people?

One of the Healers poked her head in. "Miss Bell?"

"Yeah?" Katie said tiredly.

"You have a visitor," the Healer said, looking unusually excited, considering she usually spoke tonelessly and shuffled her feet.

"Really now," Katie said, feigning surprise. She was always getting visitors. They were just the same, usual people. Her dad, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and if she was lucky, a sporadic visit from Fred and George Weasley.

Rarely was Katie Bell ever lucky.

"Yes, and he insists I let him in 'this moment,'" the Healer quoted.

So it _was_ her father? She loved her Pops and all, but there was a time when a girl simply didn't want to see her father. But, Katie couldn't exactly turn him away.

"Oh, alright, let him in," Katie sighed dramatically, falling backwards onto her pillows.

"_Always a drama queen,_" she could practically hear Fred chiding.

"I'll let him in, Miss," the Healer said, before shutting the door.

About a minute later, the door practically slammed open as Oliver Wood stalked in, holding nearly-dead roses and looking beyond pissed off. His eyebrows were slanted downward angrily and his knuckles were white around the stem of the roses. In fact, he looked just like he used to after Katie made a stupid mistake in Quidditch.

Well, at least that explained the Healer's excitement. He was Oliver Wood, after all, famous Puddlemere United Keeper and at the top of _Witch Weekly's_ Hot Bachelors list.

"Hello," Katie said cheerfully, surprised and secretly elated to see her Quidditch-captain-turned-famous-stud-muffin.

"Katie Bell, are you a _complete_ idiot?"

Did he really call her an idiot? Talk about a greeting. Katie simply glared in return.

"Have you gone completely barmy?"

She crossed her arms. Yes, she _was_ attacked by a crazy necklace, but that didn't make _her_ the crazy one.

"I mean, really!" Oliver cried, throwing his arms up into the air in a rather ridiculous manner. "Have you not grown at _all_ since I left?"

Katie looked down at her breasts. Why, yes, she had, thank-you very much.

"You could have croaked, Katie!"

This was getting old. She'd gotten the "Oh, Katie, you were_ so_ atrociously close to death!" speech a million times. From her father, from Leanne, from Alicia, who had been sobbing a river the size of the Thames, and from Angelina, who, unlike Alicia, wanted to beat her up for almost dying.

"Really, Katie! Were you _caned_ or something? I always knew you were crazy but I never thought–"

"I was _not_ drunk, Oliver!" Katie interjected angrily. "And besides, if I recall correctly, it's _you_ who was always that thick one!"

"Glad to see you're not a mute," Oliver muttered, deciding to ignore the insult because he probably knew it was true.

Katie had always been the _sensible_ one. Sort of.

"Sarcasm was always your best virtue, captain," Katie said sweetly.

Oliver shrugged.

"And you say I haven't changed," Katie huffed, sinking back down into her pillows.

"You haven't."

"Yeah, you pointed that out before, didn't you?"

They glared at each other in awkward silence, Oliver standing uncomfortably at the foot of her bed and Katie resting stiffly against the backboard. They were like that for a good three minutes, until Oliver noticed Katie's eyes wander to the flowers.

"Oh, right," He said, sticking the flowers out. They were almost completely petalless, thanks to all of Oliver's angry flailing. They were even more pathetic and depressing looking than before.

Oh, how she hoped that wasn't a sign of things to come.

"Er, thank you," Katie said, placing the flowers in a nearby vase.

"So, how have you been?" he asked.

Katie raised any eyebrow. "Well, Wood, I'm doing bloody brilliant. After all, there's nothing like being attacked by a maniacal necklace whose sole purpose is to fuck my life over."

"Watch your language!" Oliver snapped.

Said the boy who was known for attacking Marcus Flint and throwing a barrage of swears, insults, and rocks in his direction whenever they played Slytherin.

"Oliver! I've heard you say worse things on the Quidditch pitch–"

"Doesn't matter," he said.

"I hate to break it to you, but I'm seventeen, Oliver, and I can swear all I want," Katie said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Not in my presence, you can't."

"You old cocker," Katie said affectionately, with a smile. There he was, going and being his overprotective Oliver-self.

Oliver let that one slide. "When do you get back to Hogwarts?"

"Nine days," Katie replied reflexively.

"Still playing Quidditch?"

"Of course!"

"That would explain the Holyhead Harpies scout outside," Oliver said thoughtfully.

"Wait, the scout's outside?" Katie cried, sitting forward.

"Yeah, she is," Oliver said sourly. "With that Scarlett Dice girl. Nasty one, she is."

Katie laughed. Scarlett Dice _did_ have a reputation for ramming into people and, if there was a particular Keeper she didn't like, she'd hurl the ball at his head instead of the hoop, and when the Keeper ducked, she'd score. Really, the girl was a genius.

"I can't believe it!" Katie said excitedly.

"I guess they want you for next season?" Oliver queried.

"Yeah!" Katie said pridefully. "They want me to play for them. Reserved team, of course, but within a year I should be–"

Oliver cut her off. "Don't do it, Katie."

"Sorry, _what?_"

"Don't play professional Quidditch," he said.

"Cut the crap," Katie laughed, punching him affectionately on the arm.

"I'm serious, Katie," Oliver said. "You're not... cut out for it."

Katie's eyes widened and her nostrils flared.

Had Oliver Wood, the captain who always pushed her to her limits, who told her that, yes, she was having an off day, but she'd still kick some Slytherin arse anyway, instructed her to _give up_ playing Quidditch because apparently she wasn't "cut out" for it? Or had the world simply flipped upside down?

"Oliver, have you gone mad?"

"No, I haven't," Oliver said calmly. "I just don't think you should do it. You could get hurt."

"Oh, honestly!" Katie cried. "You're the one who's got this year's record for most Bludgers to the stomach!"

"Yeah, but–"

"But nothing, Wood!" Katie shrieked. "I'll play professional Quidditch if I want to!"

Oliver shook his head. "I should leave. The scout will be wanting to talk to you."

Katie's mouth dropped open, but before she could say anything, he mumbled,

"It was nice seeing you again."

Then, he opened the door and left. All Katie could do was stare at his back, and then at the door. Honestly, that had to be the oddest thing Oliver Wood had ever said to her. After all, _three years!_ Three years since Katie had last heard from him, and then he barged into her room at St. Mungo's, yelled at her, called her a drunken, crazy idiot, and then told her not to pursue the only thing she'd ever known she actually wanted.

Sighing, Katie glared at the flowers, as if they had to answers to her _Woodissues_– that was what she called them back at Hogwarts, when Oliver was always on her case about one thing or another. And suddenly, it looked like he was on her case. Again.

And, of all things, about Quidditch!

Katie was just settling herself into her pillows when there was another knock on the door, and the Healer poked her head through the door.

"You have visitors, Miss Bell," she recited.

"If it's Oliver, you can tell him to go away," Katie huffed.

"Oh, no, Miss, unfortunately, Mr. Wood left about five minutes ago," the Healer said. "This woman says her name's Belinda Smith, from the Holyhead Harpies?"

Katie bolted up. In her anger at Oliver, she completely forgot about the scout and Scarlett Dice waiting for her outside.

"Oh, let them in!" Katie cried, attempting to be excited. But Oliver's words kept ringing in her ears.

_Not cut out for it_.

Seriously, since when was Oliver Wood in her head? She was cut out for professional Quidditch and she knew it. The git was probably just jealous that another Gryffindor could possibly be playing professionally.

Yeah, that was it. He was jealous. Right.

Ha. Why would Oliver Wood, star Keeper for Puddlemere United, be jealous of _her_, Katie Bell, when she was cooped up in St. Mungo's and possibly not even playing for the Harpies?

Katie wasn't given a lot of time to think, however, because the door swung open and Belinda Smith marched in, looking very self-important and severely Botox-ified. Honestly, when a witch had to resort to Botox, it's obvious they're lacking in any magical ability whatsoever.

"Katie, dear!" Belinda cried, "how _good_ it is to see you!"

"Er, you too, Miss Smith," Katie said awkwardly.

"And I'm_ sure_ you know Scarlett, here," Belinda said, plastering on a fake smile. What was with St. Mungo's and fake things? Katie was about vomit.

Scarlett Dice stepped into the room, looking confused and annoyed. It was pretty obvious that she didn't want to be in some prospective's room at St. Mungo's, and Katie couldn't exactly blame her.

"So, Katie," Belinda said, taking a seat on her bed and crossing her legs in an annoyingly prim way that Katie had never managed to master. "I suppose you know why we're here. We're here to discuss your _future_."

Katie nodded solemnly. She had figured that much.

"As I'm _sure_ you figured out, darling," Belinda said, "I'm a scout for the Holyhead Harpies, and my sole purpose, dear, is to find excellent players to help lead the Harpies to _victory_. And I think you have 'it.'"

Yes, Katie had figured that much out.

Scarlett let out a sigh and examined the photographs on Katie's side table.

"You were friends with Oliver _bloody _Wood?" Scarlett asked, referring to the picture of the Gryffindor Quidditch team when they won the cup during Katie's fourth year.

"Sort of," Katie said, shrugging. "He was my old Quidditch captain."

By sort of, she meant _not anymore_.

"He's bloody brilliant," Scarlett said. "If he was your captain, you _must_ be as bloody fantastic as Belinda pitched you to be."

Katie flushed. Sort of ironic that Oliver wanted her to give up professional Quidditch, and yet _Scarlett Dice_ thought that he was the reason Katie was so amazing.

"Well, we're _not_ here to discuss Oliver Wood," Belinda said. "Now, what we need to discuss is–"

"Bloody hell, Belinda!" Scarlett cried. "Look, you seem bloody nice and all, Kathleen–"

"Katie."

"Right. Sorry, never been good with names," Scarlett said. "Anyway, as much as I enjoy exchanging pleasantries and what not, I've got a bloody practice to get to, so basically, the Harpies are bloody interested in you, Katie. We want you on our Reserve Team, but if you're as bloody amazing as Belinda says, you should be playing on the actual team within the year."

"Scarlett!" Belinda cries. "Now, that's not _all_ there is to it..."

"The girl's in St. bloody _Mungo's_, Belinda," Scarlett snapped. "Don't discuss all the technical shit with her, please."

Belinda glowered. "Fine, then. There's only one thing, Katie. We need to see your last game– and by 'we,' I mean a good deal of the Harpies staff, and team members. If you're not ready by then, I'm afraid... I'm afraid we'll have to pass you up."

Katie paled. "Er, sorry, _what?_"

Belinda nodded. "But you seem to be making a quick recovery, so it shouldn't be a problem, should it–?" Belinda yanked a miniature harpy out of her purse, which began to make an annoying squawking sound. Belinda sighed, annoyed. "Hold on, dear, I seem to have something to attend to." She left, talking to the strange, miniature harpy.

"I hate those bloody things," Scarlett said dully. "Always interrupting something or another. Anyway, I'm sorry about her."

Katie raised her eyebrows. "Sorry about who?"

"Belinda," Scarlett said, rolling her eyes. "She's been a mess lately. Her jobs on the line, y'see. The last few girls she's found for the Harpies have been bloody awful. She found me a few years ago, but other than that, she hasn't been able to find anyone halfway decent. Basically," Scarlett sighed, "I'm the only reason she's still here. And if you're not good enough..." Scarlett drew a line across her neck and made a choking sound. "Good bye, Belinda Smith."

But no pressure or anything.

Scarlett threw herself down on Katie's bed and blew her messy hair out of her face. "So, tell me about _you_. Because, no bloody offense or anything, I'm not letting Belinda scoop up another pompous prick like Melody Harpstrings. Yuck."

"She's not even any good," Katie mumbled. "Oh, sorry!"

"Don't apologize," Scarlett said with a wave of her hand. "She's bloody awful. That's who they're hoping to find a replacement for. And then it's back to the bench for Melody." Scarlett's eyes got a glint. "Or, better yet, they'll fire her and the Wasps will hire her, and then we'll kick their arses!"

"I hate the Wasps," Katie said, frowning. "I've always been a Harpies fan," she added.

"Almost every girl was a Harpies fan at some point," Scarlett mused. "To, you know, prove that women can play bloody Quidditch as well as men."

"Sounds like Oliver Wood," Katie muttered, thinking of how he'd told her she wasn't cut out for the business. It dawned on her that maybe he thought she wasn't cut out for professional Quidditch because she was a _woman_. Katie was positively fuming. If she made the team, she was going to hurl the Quaffle as hard as she possibly could at Oliver's pompous head and hope it broke his nose.

"So that _was_ Oliver walking out of here?" Scarlett asked.

"Erm, yes."

Scarlett shook her head, amused. "He always was a funny character. Met him once. Couldn't shut up about Quidditch."

"That definitely _sounds_ like him," Katie said thoughtfully.

"So, how do you know him?" Scarlett asked. "Oh, arse shit, I forgot. He was your Quidditch captain. Sorry, I'm not very good at remembering things."

"Really? But all the plays..."

"Are the only things I can remember," Scarlett said, laughing. "Names, dates, places, spells, potions... I've got to hear them a hundred times before I can get it into my bloody mind."

"That blows," Katie said, frowning. She had always been able to remember things easily and with detail– except, when she was mad, in which case, she forgot _everything_.

This caused her to forget a lot of things concerning Oliver Wood, considering her frequent bouts of anger towards her former captain.

"Yeah, well," Scarlett said, shrugging. "You get used to it."

Outside, they could hear Belinda's conversation winding down. "Well, she should be done soon. But, if you're good enough, I'm definitely going to back you. You should come to a practice, you know. That would be bloody fantastic..."

Belinda marched in. "Hello, ladies. I'm glad to see you're getting along. But, Scarlett, we must be going! You have a practice to get to!"

Scarlett rolled her eyes. "Bye, Katie."

"Bye," Katie called to both of them as they left. Scarlett mouthed "I'll owl you," and Katie just nodded, grinning happily.

A practice with the Holyhead Harpies? Like, holy mother of fuck.

And Oliver said she wasn't cut out for pro-Quidditch. She was as good as hired. Until she remembered the tiny little detail, about all of the staff and scouts and team members watching the game, and Katie felt the need to puke.

Maybe she wasn't so cut out for this after all.

xx

**A/n:** Alright, tell me what you think (: And yes, Scarlett says "bloody" a lot on purpose. So far, I like this myself... but review and tell me what you think. Because, like holy mother of fuck, I like reviews. Figure that!

_Next Time:_

_"So I'm guessing they liked you," Oliver said, appearing out of nowhere behind Katie. Funny how his appearance managed to dampen her mood._

_"Yes, they did."_

_"Don't do it," Oliver pleaded._

_"Don't do what, exactly?" Scarlett Dice asked, coming up next to the two of them._


	2. Not So Courteous

**The Keeper To Her Heart  
**a KB/OW story  
by Quafflepunchers

xx

_Last Time:_

And Oliver said she wasn't cut out for pro-Quidditch. She was as good as hired. Until she remembered the tiny little detail, about all of the staff and scouts and team members watching the game, and Katie felt the need to puke.

Maybe she wasn't so cut out for this after all.

Chapter Two: Not So Courteous

"I can't believe Harry's not here," Ginny Weasley groaned in the locker room.

Katie couldn't exactly believe it either. Leave it to Harry to get a detention, during the game that the Cup, and her future as a Holyhead Harpies Chaser, depended on.

"Git," Ron muttered. Katie couldn't agree more.

She surveyed the room. Ron looked ready to puke, Ginny looked positively pissed, and the rest of the team looked like they'd just seen a ghost. Katie determined that since she had the most experience with games like this, she should probably give some sort of "inspirational", Oliver-esque speech.

Oliver. Crap.

"Alright," Katie said, standing up on the bench and looking down at the team. "So, this is it. This is _the_ game."

Both of the Beaters groaned.

"We've got to win this one… for Harry!" She pumped her fist up in the air and beamed down at the team. There. Short, simple, and sweet. Better than any of Oliver's speeches, because it was much shorter.

"For Harry," the team said unenthusiastically, getting up and flying onto the field.

It was a good thing she was never made captain.

xx

Roll. Add speed. Duck. Pass. Receive. Shoot.

Score.

In other words, it was all business to Katie Bell. Except it wasn't. All Katie could think of was pushing herself, Push, push, push. Out of nowhere, a Bludger came flying at her head. With the grace that only a girl could learn from several years of being yelled at by Oliver Wood—it was sad, wasn't it, how she hated him, and yet, he was the reason she was good?—she rolled to the side while simultaneously catching the Quaffle

She heard a loud cheer as the ball came flying at her face. Once again with stupid, Oliver-like reflexes, Katie caught the ball, and zooming at the hoop, she scored.

"Oh wow," Luna Lovegood said, her voice magically amplified. "It appears Katie Bell has scored again. You know, my father once told me about a Crumple-Horned Snorkack that could--OH!! Weasley saves another shot! And—oh look at those two Seekers go. Flying like two Nargles… and… GRYFFINDOR CATCHES THE SNITCH!"

The crowd erupted into cheers. The entire team was screaming. And then, without a chance to even congratulate her team, Katie was whisked off by the scouts.

"Congratulations, Katie!" Belinda screeched, looking ridiculously out of place in a pair of heels that would probably have caused Katie to break her ankles.

"Thanks!" Katie cried, beaming.

She recognized so many people—the two Beaters, Marcela Lopez and Lorelei Dean, who were known to illegally double team up against players, as well as scare opponents so much that they had received the name the Knicker Twisters. And then there was Clarisse Cooper, another Chaser, standing next to Scarlett, who looked surprisingly petite and innocent, compared to her usual, arse-kicking, mud covered self. The Seeker, Johanna Cross, was looking at Katie as if she was Jesus. Which was amusing, because Johanna looked ridiculous, with crazy red hair that constantly looked windswept and lots of freckles. Katie wondered briefly were their Keeper, Morgan Marc was, but discarded the thought, because Clarisse Cooper started to talk.

"So _you're_ Katie," Cooper said, looking her up and down.

"Er, yes," Katie said.

Cooper shrugged. "She's okay."

Belinda looked nervous. "What do you mean by _okay_, Clarisse?"

"She's okay," she repeated, with obvious amounts of _duh_ in her voice.

Uh oh. If Clarisse didn't like her, she was screwed. Fuck.

"She's ten times better than Melody," Johanna put in. "_I_ think you'd be a great addition to the Harpies, Katie."

Aw, so nice. But Johanna always liked people. She was nice. Which was why she played Seeker, because that didn't require her to ram into or fire Bludgers are people.

"Don't mind Coop," Scarlett said. "She's a bloody sour bitch sometimes."

"HEY!" Cooper cried indignantly. "I'm not a bloody sour bitch!"

Scarlett rolled her eyes. "She's just worried you'll steal her 'thunder.'"

"That's how she likes to say it, anyway," Marcela Lopez said, surprising Katie with her American accent.

"Oh," Katie said quietly.

"I'm _not_ worried she'll steal my thunder!" Cooper cried angrily. "She's not good enough, and that's the end of the story!"

"Cooper!" Lorelei cried, speaking for the first time.

"Shut up," Cooper snapped, glaring.

"You know," Scarlett said thoughtfully, "maybe we should replace _you_ with Katie, Coop."

Cooper widened her eyes. "You're such a—"

"Bloody bitch, yes, I'm aware," Scarlett said in a bored tone.

"I can't believe I left the Wasps for _this_," Cooper grumbled.

"You did it for the cash," hissed Marcela.

"Not true!" Cooper screeched. "Fallacies!"

Johanna leaned over to Katie and took her wrist in her hand and said, in a motherly tone, "I'm really sorry you have to see this. But I swear, it's natural with any team. We all have our qualms." She smiled at Katie, and she couldn't help but believe her.

"Oh, go suck a lemon," Marcela grumbled.

"Hypocrite," Cooper snapped.

Marcela's eyes widened. "That was only once—"

"GUYS!" Lorelei cried. "I really don't care all too much about what you've been sucking lately. We have something a little bit more important on our hands, if you haven't noticed." She gesticulated wildly in Katie's direction.

Marcela pouted. "But she makes me seem like such a whore—"

"Because you are one," Cooper replied.

"Oh, please. The only reason nobody knows about _your_ 'fetishes' is because the alumni players paid _Witch Weekly_ to keep quiet!"

"I KNOW OLIVER WOOD!" Katie cried loudly, hoping to seem more promising to Cooper and silence their stupid arguments. So the team wasn't perfect. They were slutty, they fought, and they thought she sucked. But okay, breathe, she could do this.

"_Ew_," Cooper breathed, crossing her arms over her chest. "He's _such_ an arse."

"Oh, shut it, Coop," Marcela said. "He's rather dreamy, isn't he?"

"And so handsome!" Lorelei giggled.

"And he's such an amazing Keeper!" Marcela cried. "And don't you love his face when he's 'concentrating?'"

"Oh!" Lorelei whispered. "Yes! I got distracted once in the middle of a game because of it…"

Gag fest. Katie, still rather pissed with Oliver, wasn't in the mood to hear about how amazing he was. How dreamy he was. How handsome. How blah, blah, blahhhhh. As previously stated, gag.

Finally, an important looking woman stepped up, and looked Katie up and down. Coach Hemingway. She stared down at the team, looking intense under a pair of overly-plucked eyebrows and bright purple hair that, during her career as a Harpie, had clashed violently with the green and gold uniforms. But, she had still been one of the most amazing Keepers the Harpies had ever seen, so they let the whole hair thing slide.

"Ladies," she said sternly, glaring down at them. "I'd appreciate it if you could keep your _ridiculous_ quarrelling to the locker rooms."

"Yes, Coach," they chorused.

"Now, Katie," she said, smiling down at her.

"Yes?" Katie asked hopefully.

"The scouts and I think we see something in you," Coach Hemingway said. "We like you."

Oh God, this was it. This was where the "but" came in, and her dreams crumbled around her like a Seeker who got hit by a particularly hard Bludger. _Breathe in, breathe out._

"We're interested," Coach Hemingway finished. "Of course, we want to see you fly with the team, but we're quite sure you'll be excellent. You _must_ belong, or else they wouldn't have let you see them fight like that."

"So," Katie said slowly. "All I have left to do is fly with the team?"

"And then you're in!" Belinda beamed from behind Coach Hemingway.

"Basically," Coach Hemingway said. "They manager will be watching, but you needn't worry, she's a very nice lady."

Katie felt like she was five when Coach Hemingway said 'very nice lady.' As if she was afraid of managers! That was a laugh! She wasn't afraid of anything after accidentally catching Oliver naked in the shower while he was trying to drown himself after "That Game."

"Oh, wow!" Katie cried, because for once, her normal chatterbox self wasn't able to think of something to say.

The team, minus Cooper, all grinned at her. "Well," Scarlett said pointedly. "I'm going to go check out the rest of the teams. You all flew bloody brilliantly!"

And with that, she walked away, giving Katie a friendly punch on the shoulder. Marcela and Lorelei followed her, and after Marcela's punch, Katie lost the feeling in her arm. Cooper smirked at Katie's discomfort. Merlin, what was her problem?

Johanna and Cooper looked at each other.

"Three Broomsticks?" Johanna asked.

Cooper shook her head. "I'm gonna hang around. Check out Hogwarts. It's been so long." She looked longingly up and down the pitch.

"Suit yourself," Johanna said. "I'm going to go grab some of Rosmerta's butter beer. It's been too long."

"Bye," Katie offered halfheartedly, sort of sad to see Johanna go.

Johanna beamed at Katie. "I'll see you at practice!" she said with a wave.

With that, she walked away, joining the throng of teachers making their way towards Hogsmeade for a drink.

Just Katie and Cooper. Cooper and Katie.

You could have cut the tension with a knife.

"Seeya, _superstar_," Cooper said briskly, before waltzing away. Probably to go and seduce some poor, innocent bloke.

Oh well.

Cooper's departure left Katie alone.. At the end of the pitch. With her broom still in hand. Probably looking a little bit pathetic. Sighing, she figured should get up to the party. After all, Gryffindors were known to party hardy. Somebody always did something crazy, and since they had won, she was sure the party was going to get out of control. She had even heard a rumor about some firewhiskey… it would be nice to get her hands on some, seeing as neither Oliver nor Angelina would let her have any in celebration while they were captains.

"So I guess they like you?"

Katie whirled around, whacking somebody square in the chest with her broom just in case he was a rapist or something.

It was Oliver.

Close enough.

"_What_ are _you_ doing _here?_"

"I came to cheer on my favorite Chaser, of course," Oliver scoffed, standing up and brushing the dust off of his shirt.

Katie snorted. "You're such a git."

Oliver gave her a cocky grin. "Well of course, I'm a Quidditch player."

She glared at him. "Is there something you want?"

"I think you know," Oliver said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

She hit him with a broom again. So maybe he _was_ a rapist, although it technically wasn't illegal for them to, you know, do it. Not that she would ever do it with Oliver Wood.

But if he forced her…

Okay, she had to stop thinking about her and Oliver Wood doing illicit things that she could later have him arrested for, seeing as he was giving a speech, and it was probably important. And if it wasn't, she could always hit him with her broom again for wasting her time.

"…and really, Katie, it's not a great business or anything," Oliver continued.

She yawned. "Look, Wood," she started. "I know you don't think I should play or whatever, but I'm going to, and that's it."

"You're impossible," he groaned.

"Well, excuse me," Katie snapped. "But you can't really blame me—I'm not going to go and take _your_ advice, considering you haven't spoken to me in, oh, three years? And the only reason you're even acknowledging my existence is because I was attacked by a maniacal necklace! You can't just waltz back into somebody's life and tell them to quit pursuing their dream and expect them to listen!

I always knew you were a bit barmy—who sleeps with their Quidditch robes, anyway?—but that, well, it takes idiocy to a new level!" Katie finished, out of breath.

Oliver was staring up at the sky, as if he hadn't taken a word of that in.

"Did you listen to me at all?" Katie cried, slapping him with her broom again.

"Oh, no," Oliver said, glaring down at her. "Considering you wouldn't listen to _my_ speech, you cant' expect me to give you the courtesy you didn't give me, can you? And I only slept in my robes before a big game, by the way."

"You _were_ listening," Katie said crossly.

"Well, yes," Oliver mumbled, shrugging. "I'm a natural born listener."

Katie rolled her eyes. "You're so cocky."

"Not really," Oliver grumbled. "You just think that because you're mad at me."

"That, I am," Katie agreed.

She crossed her arms and glared at him, and he shoved his hands deep into his khakis and stared up at the sky. Well, that conversation was certainly getting far. Actually, Katie felt rather ridiculous, and decided since there was no yelling or talking or _anything_ being done, she might as well head off to the party.

"Where are you going?" Oliver asked, confused.

"To the celebration?" Katie said slowly.

"Why?"

"Because we just won the cup," she answered.

"It's rude to leave in the middle of a conversation," Oliver said, frowning. "Did your mum teach you any manners?"

"Did you just insult my mum?"

"No," he said. "I insulted _you_. Bell, I think _you're_ the barmy one here."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

"Can we try to some logical thinking for a moment?" he asked, grabbing her wrist. She pulled it away and glared at him.

"No."

"Do you really want to go into a career that could send you into Saint Mungo's on a daily basis?"

"Yes."

"But it's a job for crazy people!" Oliver cried. "And you're always stressing about how much more sane you are than the rest of the world—"

"Maybe I'm ready to embrace my insanity, Oliver."

"But you could get a Bludger to the head!"

"Like you?"

"That's beside the point," he said quickly.

"Ah, of course."

"You shouldn't play," he said.

"You stated that already, dear captain."

"Damn right I did," Oliver said proudly, puffing out his chest.

Katie snorted. "You're an idiot if you think I'm going to turn down an offer with the Harpies. End of story. Can I go now?"

"Not until you decide not to play," Oliver grumbled.

"Then I guess we'll be here all night," Katie said, falsely cheerful. She beamed at him.

"I can't. I have a game…"

"Then, ta ta," she said, grinning and sending him a wave. "Don't keep it touch. I won't be calling!"

She started to walk away, but unfortunately for her, Oliver fell in step with his annoyingly long legs. She tried to pick up her pace, but, unfortunately, Oliver wasn't just fast on the field. He was fast in _general_.

"The Fat Lady won't let you up," Katie said, once they had reached the steps.

"Oh, she will," Oliver stated firmly. "She loves me."

Katie rolled her eyes. Well, wasn't he the popular Quidditch player?

He followed her all the way up the changing steps, managing to skip the faulty stair and earning himself a couple of "ohmygods!" and gasps from random Puddlemere fans. Katie rolled her eyes, somewhat miffed at being followed around by him. He could be such a stubborn prick when he wanted to be.

Finally, they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. The portrait swung open and she let Oliver in—how unfair! Katie spent an entire night camping outside of the portrait hole because she forgot the password once! Grumbling, Katie threw herself down on the floor and pretended Oliver didn't even exist, until he sat down across from her and grinned. She ignored him for a good five minutes, sipping her cup of firewhiskey, until she decided his stare was getting just a wee bit creepy.

"_What?_"

"Nothing," he replied. "It's just like old times."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to stop playing, so you might as well go back to your flat and get some beauty sleep. Merlin knows you need it," she added, just to tick him off.

He shrugged. "You don't have to be beautiful to play Quidditch."

"You're odd."

"And you're not going to play for the Harpies."

Around them, someone was blasting the Weird Sisters loudly, and there was a lot of screaming. And snogging. There was definitely a lot of snogging going on. She vaguely heard someone yelling about their knickers, and then decided she didn't want to know.

"Sorry?" Katie said loudly, cupping her ear. "Can't hear you Oliver!"

"Katie, come _on_, don't do it!" Oliver snapped, snatching the firewhiskey out of her hands.

"Hey!" she cried, reaching for the cup.

"Don't do what?"

Oliver twisted around and found himself eye level with Scarlett Dice's kneecap.

"Er."

"No, seriously," Scarlett said, plopping herself down onto the floor. "Don't do what?"

Katie grinned maliciously in Oliver's direction, who seemed to have paled at Scarlett's appearance.

""Well, Scarlett," Katie said. "Oliver, here," she gestured towards Oliver, who Scarlett acknowledged with a nod, "doesn't think I'm cut out for professional Quidditch."

Scarlett glared at him. "Don't be bloody ridiculous! You're _so_ cut out for professional Quidditch! Like, I've never seen anybody more cut out for Quidditch—besides Cooper, but she's so full of herself. And Coach Hemingway. Oh, and you, Wood. You're practically built for Quidditch…"

Scarlett, clearly tipsy, continued to rattle off names of people she had never seen more cut out for Quidditch. And there she was saying she was bad with names…

"Oh, and then there was MacGregor the Beatinator, he was bloody fantastic! Oh, and _no one _was better than Sebastian The Sexy Seeker… no, wait, that's not right…"

Katie felt her confidence in the argument deflating as the number of people Scarlett named increased. Well, she might as well wave good bye to her platform. Ta-ta.

Oliver smirked at her.

Katie, deciding she'd had enough with the party, resolved to go up to the dormitories and get caught up on her sleep, which she hadn't been getting a lot of, thanks to Quidditch, NEWTs, and Oliver…

Stupid boy followed her to the steps.

"Oliver," she sighed, exasperated. "Go away."

He cocked his head. For a brief moment, Katie thought he actually looked kind of cute. She stomped her foot to symbolize the squashing of that thought.

"Why'd you stomp your foot?" Oliver asked.

"Because I felt like it," Katie snapped, turning up the steps.

"I'm not going to go away that easily, Katie," Oliver called up the steps.

"Whatever," she yelled back down.

"Katie!"

"Yes, Oliver?"

"Never mind," he called with a dramatic sigh.

She raised her eyebrows and turned back to him. Standing there on the foot of her stairs, she was reminded of her fourth year.

xx

"_So it's Fred, isn't it?" Oliver asked, popping a Chocolate Frog into his mouth and grinning at her._

_Katie removed the quill from behind her ear and edited one of Oliver's plays. "Oliver, that's a stupid move."_

"_Which one?" he asked, leaning over next to her, practically breathing down her neck._

"_OI! Go find your own air to breathe!" she said, swatting him away._

"_Sorry," he said, grinning sheepishly._

"_Whatever," Katie responded, shrugging. "This one."_

"_Oh," Oliver said, before quickly changing the play. "So it's Fred then, isn't it?"_

_Katie glared at him. "And so what if it is?"_

"_So it is?"_

"_Actually, no," Katie said, leaning back down over the plays. "Merlin, Oliver, were you even _concentrating _while you wrote these?"_

"_Of course!" he scoffed. "But I'd be able to concentrate more if you'd just tell me who it is."_

"_And again, Oliver, I'm not going to."_

"_Please?"_

"_No."_

"_Pretty please with pumpkin pasties on top?"_

"_You're annoying," she huffed. "I'm going upstairs."_

"_Not until you answer my question."_

"_I did!" Katie cried. "I told you, it's not Fred. Good night, Oliver."_

_He followed her to the base of the girls' staircase. She shook her head at him, exasperated._

"_Tell me!"_

"_Why?"_

_He looked at his shoes. "Angelina's going to kill me."_

"_What?" Katie cried._

"_For telling you that she wants me to find out if you like Fred," Oliver said obviously. "Because she likes him. And she wants to make sure it's okay, considering you're best mates and such."_

"_Oh," Katie said, shaking her head. "I don't like Fred. I like Lee, actually."_

_Oliver grinned up at her, wiggling his eyebrows. "Lee Jordan, huh?"_

_Katie blushed. She hadn't meant to tell him _that.

_Or had she?_

"_Er, yeah. Good night, Wood," she mumbled quickly._

_She walked up the steps and waited around the corner for five minutes, until she finally heard his footsteps start. When he walked away, her heartbeat slowed dramatically._

_What. The. Heck?_

xx

She stared down at him from the top of the stairs. "Good night, Wood," she said, before sweeping up the stairs. And she hated herself for doing it, but just like she had three years ago, she waited from around the corner until she heard him walk away. She put her hand to her heart and glared at the walls. The stupid git made it race, _again_.

xx

**A/n:** Voila, chapter two! Sorry this took two weeks, but I've been busy. Sports. Tests. Finals coming up. Clothes. Drama. Typical teenage girl things… ugh, it's been so crazy. I would have had this up last night, except from my laptop, FF was making it all centered, and it was late and I was tired, so, I had to upload it today from the desktop.

I think this chapter might be a bit boring... but the next one will be more interesting, I swear.

OH, and I apologize for any spelling/grammar errors. I don't have an editor-y person and I type this on my laptop, and the "H" key is sort of hard to press, so if something is missing an H, sorry…

Long reviews, please :) Next update within the next two weeks, the next month at most (hey, June is busy :P).

_Next Time:_

The Holyhead Harpies' pitch was _so_ big. So huge. So… well, there weren't words to explain it, but it was pretty awesome.

Until Clarisse Cooper threw the Quaffle rather _forcefully_ at Katie's head.

She could practically here Oliver saying she wasn't cut out for pro-Quidditch in her head. And so with that, she pretended Clarisse was Oliver and nailed her in the stomach with the Quaffle.

"BELL!"

"Sorry!"

She really had to stop letting people get to her.


End file.
